


we were born ready (don't care if the world ain't ready for me)

by Chill_with_Penguins



Series: heroes shine in different ways [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: But they get together when they're slightly older, F/M, Found Family, Gaang (Avatar) as Family, Healing from the MOUNTAIN of trauma those kids have, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I swear one day she's gonna rule the whole world, I'm Bad At Tagging, Katara is a BAMF, Katara: challenging social norms since 2005, Politics, Post-Canon, Post-War, Reconstruction, Sexism, Slight mentions of racism later on, Slightly Darker than Canon, We love him, Zuko is both the Firelord and still a massive dork, Zutara, but nothing graphic i promise, his guards are just tired all the time, ignores the comics, loving yourself, we love a healthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23550778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chill_with_Penguins/pseuds/Chill_with_Penguins
Summary: Hakoda hugs them both before they go to sleep every night. He smells like jerky and lamp oil, and his big arms, trained for destruction, are so very gentle.Katara wonders in the blackness of night what it means to be a soldier without a war.She wonders if her father is lying awake, twenty feet away, asking himself the same questions.---After the war, it's not easy for Katara to just go back home and settle in where she left off, so she decides to use her time and effort in more productive ways. After all, there's a whole world out there just waiting for her.(Alternatively: a fic about self-love, healing, and staging a coup, because in what world would these kids be able to sit back and put the adults back in charge?)
Relationships: Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar), brief mention of past Katara/OFC
Series: heroes shine in different ways [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1373656
Comments: 47
Kudos: 419





	1. unda

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to another edition of "this idea would not leave me alone so I worked on it sporadically over the course of two years and kept forgetting it was in my drive"!
> 
> Some quick notes/warnings:
> 
> \- I don't go in depth, but in this fic, it is implied/part of my headcanon that the war was a little darker and they were more active in strategy and battles and whatnot, so take care of yourselves guys <3
> 
> \- This chapter especially focuses on the sexist culture of the Southern Water Tribe, so while there's nothing graphic, there are mentions throughout of how Katara is expected to relegate herself to a very specific role
> 
> \- Aang was never interested in Katara, because I've always thought their relationship was more brother/sister than anything else and tbh the show made me a little uncomfortable every time they kissed
> 
> \- This fic was supposed to be Zutara, but then it took Katara a Hot Minute to sort herself out and I wanted her and Zuko to get together when they each had a slightly better idea of who they were and what they wanted, so he doesn't come in right away. Sorry :/
> 
> \- The title of this chapter comes from the Latin word for "wave"
> 
> \- This fic has three chapters and an epilogue, all of which are written (I'm not making the same mistake I did with Since the Fall, lmao), I'm just editing them a bit more before I post. That being said, at least as of right now I don't have a beta or anything, so I'm sure I missed a bunch of typos and tense mistakes and everything while I was editing this one; please forgive me for those lol
> 
> \- Fun fact: I finished writing this story as a birthday present to my wonderful, amazing best friend! I'll be gifting this work to her, once she remembers to send me her username *cough, cough*
> 
> \- The title for this fic (and incidentally for the series title) is a lyric from the song Born Ready by Dove Cameron, I highly recommend that you all give it a listen. It's a... pop-y hype song? I'm not really sure how to categorize it but it's just a fun song to listen to
> 
> \- last thing: Everyone please take care of yourselves!! I'm sure I'm not the only one going stir-crazy (and writing/watching/reading a bunch more, lol) with all the coronavirus stuff, but I hope you guys are all doing what you need to do to keep yourself mentally and physically healthy <3

When she steps off the boat and onto familiar ice, something in her settles for the first time since a Fire Nation ship crashed through her village. It's like for the past year and a half-- _ a year and a half _ since her feet have touched these shores, she's fifteen and aching with homesickness--she hadn't realized how much she needed to breathe, to feel the sting of her lungs when they protested against the bitter-cold air.

It's been months since she's seen snow, and she wants nothing more than to lay on the ground and roll in it, so she does. For the first time in what feels like forever, there's no reason not to--she doesn't have to set a good example for anyone, doesn't have to meet a deadline or a war party or a governing council, so she just… does it. She feels like rolling in the snow, getting the frozen bits all over her clothes and face and hair, so she does.

She laughs and it feels like freedom.

The guards, still wearing their uncomfortable-looking Fire Nation armor, probably think she's crazy. Maybe she is--after the longest road trip in her life, crammed into small spaces and fights to the death with a bunch of other moody teenagers, who wouldn't be?

Still. She can feel the snow melting against her skin. She should probably stand up soon.

She stretches out her fingers one last time, burying them in the cold and relishing in the feel of the tundra around her. After the months she spent in the Fire Nation capital, playing ambassador and helping with the aftermath of the war, all this water is glorious. It's under her, in her fingers, her hair--it clots in the sky in thick, puffy clouds, all this moisture just hanging suspended around her, as if waiting for her to call upon it.

The last time she was on her own territory, she could barely hold a bubble, much less sense the sheer power of the ocean at her fingertips. She isn't that little girl anymore--she is a warrior, now, just as much as any of her father's men. She fought the crown princess in an Agni Kai and won.

She pushes herself to her feet and lets her gaze drift to follow the smoke on the horizon, pretends the stinging in her eyes is from the wind and not the sheer, overwhelming relief that's coursing through her.

"What are our orders, Lady Katara?" the captain asks after a moment. She supposes it's a fair question; she must look crazy standing here, crying and covered in snow.

"Take me home," she says, and the words are like honey on her tongue. They taste good--feel good, in the part of her that will never stop being a scared little girl, watching a man in red-and-grey armor hold her mother back--so she says them again, quietly, for herself alone. Why not? She's got all the time in the world, now. "Take me home."

*

The thrill of not having anything she has to do wears off faster than expected. For about a week, her tribe lets her be. She's greeted with wide smiles and sometimes cheers, from the little ones, whenever she's out and about, which is nice until it's not. She can lounge around the house, sleep in as late as she wants, stretch her sore muscles and practice as much or as little as she feels like. No one is relying on her to feed or clothe them, and it is a beautiful thing, this weightlessness that comes with not being responsible for another living being.

After about a week, though, the exhilaration of not being needed starts to fade, and she finds herself wandering hesitantly into the workroom with the other women. She's not quite sure she belongs here, in this quiet, dark place with murmured gossip and sleeping infants, but they welcome her in with smiles and hugs, so she stays. Someone gives her a ripped shirt and a needle and she focuses on the task at hand. It's nice work, if mindless.

It's not a bad way to spend her day, not at all. She remembers loving days like this before--

Before everything.

Still. There's something in her that sighs in discontent.

*

"I think I'd like to make another sword," Sokka says one day. Katara blinks, startled. They had been in the middle of talking about next week's fishing trip--where is this coming from?

"Um. I think that's a good idea," she says tentatively. She's not quite sure where this is going.

"It won't be a space sword, obviously--that meteorite is probably long gone by now, and I don't think there's any point in going and looking for another. But maybe… Maybe I could make a regular sword this time. Keep practicing. Gran-Pakku is still friends with Master Piando, and he visits sometimes, and I could learn on my own, too."

"That sounds perfect, Sokka," she says. There are about a million things she could follow up with--things like  _ what would you make your sword out of _ and  _ where are you going to put a forge on the South Pole without melting everything, _ but she doesn't. She may not quite understand the conversation that's taking place, but she knows her brother, and she knows when he's trying to work up the courage to say something.

Sure enough, after a minute of silence where he's awkwardly wringing his hands, Sokka speaks again. "Do you… do you ever miss it? I mean it was war and obviously that's bad, that's terrible, and it's great that we're at peace now! I'm not saying we should start a war again or anything! But do you ever--ugh," he sighs, clearly flustered. "Never mind."

He stands to leave, and Katara grabs his hand. She gets it, now. What is it they're talking about. "I still dream about lightning, most nights. When it hit Aang, or Zuko. When it was coming toward me. I dream about how completely helpless I was and how it didn't matter how much I practiced healing in that instant, because they were dead. Just for a second, a heartbeat, and then I saved them, but--they were dead. It was just me and my useless bending and my friend's dead body."

Sokka sits back down, exhaustion and worry clear in his gaze.

"A couple nights ago, Gran-Gran came into my room and I nearly froze her to the roof," she continues. There's something cathartic, she thinks, about sharing her pain, laying it all out like neat little pai sho pieces.

"I don't think I'll ever forget it. The agony, and the fear, and the killing. But--you're right. It wasn't all bad, the time we spent together. I miss it too. I miss them."

Her brother slumps, something between despair and relief on his face. "For so long, we were on our own. Even before Aang and everything that happened, we were alone, just looking after each other. I mean we had Gran-Gran and the tribe and everything, but--"

"Yeah," she says, because she knows. "I get it."

"And then all that time we spent traveling. It was hard and gross and frustrating but it was also… well, kinda exhilarating. We had a mission and a team and a purpose and no one to answer to. And now I'm here, and I sort of have pull with the council--I mean, I helped plan the invasion on the Day of Black Sun, and lead the attack on the warships when Aang was facing down the Fire Lord and all that, but they still see me as a kid, you know? As some kid who got lucky and who they have to nod and smile to and then ignore."

He turns to face her, and there's desperation in his eyes. Probably in hers, too--somehow the peace has made it an unspoken rule, here in the South, where everything still smells of ash if you dig too deep, a rule about silence and the war and it's so much like their months in Ba Sing Se, everything perfect but them--and it's so nice to be heard.

"I'm not that kid anymore, Katara. I tried to be, for Dad, but I'm not and they still won't listen."

"I know," she says, because she does. She loves him for who he is and who he isn't and who he's still becoming, for all the choices he's made and the love he's given up and the way he's pushed himself to become better-better-best.

"I see you," she says, because it's true.

*

Hakoda hugs them both before they go to sleep every night. He smells like jerky and lamp oil, and his big arms, trained for destruction, are so very gentle.

Katara wonders in the blackness of night what it means to be a soldier without a war.

She wonders if her father is lying awake, twenty feet away, asking himself the same questions.

*

Her eyes snap open when Sokka brushes past her, balancing precariously as he struggles to reach whatever strange space he left his crap in now. He tumbles down on top of her with a muffled curse and she wakes up the rest of the way.

If this was any other morning, she would probably have already shoved him off of her and outside of her room, maybe frozen his arms to his sides for good measure. But Sokka is slumped half off the bed, his ass hanging in the air while a shelf worth of stuff is scattered around his head, and instead she just bursts out laughing. It's not really that funny, as Sokka points out (he's pouting, it only makes the picture even better), but it still takes her a couple of tries to stop.

By the time she's done, she's doubled over and her ribs ache. Her head feels clearer--lighter--than it has in weeks, and Sokka has given up and joined her in her laughter.

"What were you doing, anyways?"

"I," Sokka starts, then hesitates, "I was trying to get my boomerang."

"And why, exactly, was it above my bed?"

"How should I know that?!"

She gives him a flat stare, and he finally deflates.

"Evidently," he mutters, "The boomerang doesn't always come back if you throw it at the side of the house."

She laughs again, and doesn't stop for a long, long time.

*

"Hey, so, where are we going?" she asks as she wades across the street. Evidently it had snowed again last night, and only she and her brother were crazy enough to try and face the drifts.

"I'm going to the meeting. I have no idea where you're going, since you've been too lazy to come to the last few," Sokka says. A year or two ago, he might've sounded angry, but now there's nothing but light teasing and love in his voice.

Still. Katara stops. "What meeting?"

"The village meeting," he calls back. "You know, all the politics you think you're too good for all of a sudden?"

"What are you talking about?" she asks, perplexed. "I haven't heard about any meetings."

Sokka slows to a stop, staring at her, disbelieving. "You… didn't know?"

"Maybe they forgot," she says, but the twisting in her gut says otherwise. The way everyone had watched her enter the work tent and nodded, like she was a piece slotted back in place, said otherwise.

Faintly, she recognizes the hard, still lines on Sokka's face as anger. She should be comforting him right now, calming him down so they don't cause a fuss without all the facts, but…

But. But she's a fifteen year old girl. But she's a war veteran. But she trained the Avatar, snuck behind enemy lines, helped her brother lead an invasion force.

She is the last Southern Waterbender, and she was not invited to the table, because politics is not for a woman like her. Because politics is not for a woman.

*

After, the rage starts in her gut. It quickly works outwards, of course--she feels the push and pull of her heart, so much like the tides, gently flowing anger through veins; it crawls up into her eyes and fills her vision with red, the color so unfamiliar among the blues and whites of the South Pole.

This was not a boring fisherman's meeting. This was a high council. This was a war summit.

This was a war summit and they told her to get out.

This is her people's fate, her family's, in the hands of a bunch of men who are too foolish to realize that their greatest asset is nothing that they've built with their own two hands; it is her, the last Master Waterbender of the South. These men throw spears and shout war cries and think themselves strong.

Katara bites back a bitter laugh. They know nothing of strength. She does, though. No matter the cause or circumstances, she knows power now. She feels it all around her, inside her, in her lungs and bones and spine and fingertips. She feels it in the cracking of the glacial ice, in the way the sea churns, restless, all around them.

(She felt it not so long ago, nothing more than her and Hamma and the dirt-sweat-blood around them, salty tears drying on her face even as she forced herself to rise, higher and higher and face this monster, to look death and madness in the eyes and  _ hold her ground- _ -)

These men think they know power.

They were not there, that night. Or when she halted a rainstorm, or when she won an Agni Kai against the crown princess of the Fire Nation, or when she stood between a small town and a flood of her own making. They were not there when she helped lead a siege on the Earth Kingdom's castle. They did not watch when she held life and death themselves in her hands, when she brought the blood pumping back through veins that had gone still and cold because  _ she willed it so _ . They did not see her cross the water, barely more than a phantom who could heal with one breath and rip metal apart with another. 

They think they know power, because they fought in the war.

They know nothing. And, Katara thinks, the beginning of a cold smile crossing her features, it's about time they found out exactly what she can do.

*

It's surprisingly easy to slip back into a costume. The first night, she tries the old one on again--folds of fabric rustle as they slide across her, the face paint thick and creamy, like a second skin. She goes out into the night, reveling in the way so many fractals glimmer in the light of the full moon. She walks out and then just… doesn't stop, trusts her own bending and the ocean beneath her enough to walk calmly out across the water's surface. She walks until the ocean is all around her, until letting go of her bending would be a death sentence, until her village is barely a dot against the horizon. The moon has moved across the sky--she's smiling from directly overhead, now, and if Katara squints she thinks she can still see Yue in the faint shadows on the surface.

She walks until there is nothing but herself and her bending and the water around her, equal parts healing and killing. And then she dances.

Since the end of the war, she's had little chance to practice any battle forms. It's mostly been practical bending, to fix things around the village or do chores, or frivolous tricks to make children and courtiers alike smile. But anything beyond that… bending to fight with so many eyes on her would have been dangerous. The world would have seen her and thought "it's not over", instead of seeing the crystalline beauty of killing blows.

Now, though. There is no one to stop her. No one to see. No politics standing in her way.

Katara unleashes herself and it is glorious.

It's so easy, too. Tidal waves the size of Omashu's towers, water whips that change to thousands of ice daggers that change to a spire of crushing force between breaths. She draws the water up from beneath her feet and lets the tentacles form around her, wills arms into existence and drags months worth of fish out of the dark sea beneath her on a whim. She lets them all go, watches them disappear beneath the black waves, and reaches out-out-out with her heart. She seizes the blood inside a killer whale far beneath, lets its prey get away before sending it in another direction. Salt and spray are ruining her face paint, so she lets them--she draws the water to herself and basks in the way the power tastes on her tongue, lets herself drown in all that she can do, if she so chooses.

By the time she comes back to shore, her blood is pumping like it hasn't since Sozin's Comet. She feels the kind of focused energy and drive that she's missed, an ache she didn't even register in her determination to Come Home.

It's funny, Katara thinks as she walks back, the water beneath her feet holding her up effortlessly. This--grabbing her power with both hands, the sky alight with green and purple above her, the world hers for the taking--feels so much more like home than the quiet dark and flash of needles.

*

When she gets to shore, she finds Sokka holding her coat. He watches her with kind, dark eyes, ones that look so different from her own, and hands it over before she has time to register the chill of being back on the ice.

"You're done hiding, huh?" he says, more observation than question. He's been standing there long enough to know the answer.

"I tried for long enough, don't you think? Besides, I was trying not to rock the boat so that I could maintain their respect. Clearly that didn't work, or else they would've invited me to the Council meetings."

"They're idiots," her brother agrees. "But still. Let's try not to break everything when we take over, alright?"

Katara doesn't bother to bite back her smile. The war took so many things from them--childhoods, easy summers, supply lines, both parents, Aang's whole civilization--but it had given them things, too. It gave her this version of her brother, who stands behind her without question with a scowl at outdated customs that matches her own.

Well. Given is the wrong word. It had backed them into a corner, forced them to find their own way out, to work and fight and kill to stay standing. The war had given them fear, and Katara was grateful for that, because without the fear she would've never seen all the things she could do. She would not have brought her family together, would not have grabbed these small, scared kids and breathed hope into them. She would not have pushed herself to the breaking point, past it, and found she could stand back up. She imagined it, for a moment: a world without the war. A world where she grew up with both parents, where the Southern Tribe was just as strong and beautiful and sexist as their Northern counterpart. A world where she only ever learned healing, where she never fell in love with the way it felt to fight her way out, to protect herself and know her own strength. Where she still relied on others. Where she never knew to cherish the taste of every piece of food. A world where she never realized how every breath of life is a gift, one you have to take hold of or risk losing forever.

The war took so many things from them.

Katara thinks it would be a tragedy to live in a world where she didn't learn to take them back.

*

Sometime between shedding the Painted Lady disguise and finishing her new battle armor, sketching plans for buildings and roads and ports and council members elected by the people, between planning the minimum minority representation and finding all the things to fix, Sokka goes on vacation to Kyoshi Island.

He comes back two weeks later, a new sword he forged himself in one hand and glowing happiness in the other. Katara looks at her brother, so in love, and wants to cry from love and happiness and grief. They have given so much of themselves--to see that her brother can still love, still smile, still laugh so fully…

Katara decides that she really ought to send Suki a care package, if they're going to be sisters in law one day.

*

When they spear-fish in the Southern Water Tribe, they teach the boys to pick a position and maintain it until the moment is right. Not to sit perfectly still--they are on the ocean, the living, breathing ocean, and stillness is more concerning than quiet motion--but to hesitate, to hover, to move with the tide until the prey is too close to get away.  _ When the moment is right, _ they say,  _ move fast and hard. _ Spear fishing is a lot of waiting followed by one quick, clean strike; the prey should be out of the water before the blood even has time to spread.

(They don't teach the women to fish at all, only to take what is given and make things for others out of it.)

(There are many things wrong with this. Discussing them all would be its own novel.)

*

There are quiet meetings before they take any action. Katara finds the other girls who look at the horizon instead of at the task before them; Sokka seeks out the other boy warriors who look lost without a weapon. They quietly, carefully feel their way through the tribe, finding potential allies and enemies.

The more they look, the more they find discontent.

The war had been devastating for the Air Nomads, but the Southern Water Tribe was hit second-hardest. (When Aang had looked around, lost and hurting, at the ruins of his people, Katara knew how he felt. She grew up in the bones of a once-proud nation.) During the war, things were desperate. A council or warriors to rule made sense, if you were at war. But with peace came a change in circumstances, in opinions, in views. Katara had never known peace, but she was striving towards it, eyes open and heart straining. The old men who ruled her tribe--they couldn't see any further than the next splatter of blood. Consequently, they were still ruling as if they were at war, directing resources to border patrols instead of fishing, instilling curfews, rationing food.

The children of the chief meet with their people and hear their complaints. They wait, calm and quiet, moving with the current around them. When they are sure it's for the best of the tribe, they strike.

*

The coup--if you can call it that--takes 57 minutes: eight to take the city, the other 49 to negotiate terms of surrender and the passing of rights. Some of the soldiers try to stand up, to fight back; they shout about treason and the destruction of the Tribe; about all the ruin that will befall this woman who thinks herself a man.

"She doesn't think she's a man," Sokka says, aghast. "She thinks she's Katara."

Some of the soldiers--veterans, now that the war is over (is it ever really over, for those who were born to it, who grew up breathing blood and ash?)--try to fight back. Their father doesn't. He just looks back at them with tired eyes (Sokka's eyes, if they were older and deeper and more heartbroken) and signs away his control.

Dinner that night is an awkward, silent affair.

*

The weeks blur by. She passes out every night, comes home with aching feet and arms she can barely lift and a head swimming with legal jargon. She eats on the move, a new ordinance in one hand and seal jerky in the other; she oversees construction on the port by day and runs town meetings in the evening. She naps more than she sleeps, curled up on furs in the corner of her office between meetings. Ruling, even a small place like the Southern Water Tribe, is exhausting.

She loves it.

She loves fixing problems, loves seeing her people, loves bartering over trade deals with the stubborn instinct of a girl who once convinced a man to give her enough melons to last a week for nothing more than a few coppers and some (fake) crystal beads. She loves doing something that actually feels productive, rather than just huddling over some more hides. Here, at last, is something she's good at in peace, something she can use more than healing or fighting or knowing how to make a stew out of some leaves and the last piece of jerky and wishful thinking.

She keeps a few of the old council members on as advisers, partially to appease those who are less than impressed with her decisions and partially because they have done the job before, know more than her. The ones who are quietly disapproving stay. The ones who are loudly disapproving are removed.

Sometimes, on the late nights when she feels like banging her head into a wall repeatedly, she'll pull out the memory of former general Kisu's face when the trade deal they'd been pestering her about, calling impossible, came back three days later signed with a personal invitation from Firelord Zuko to come for tea sometime, complete with a little smiley face.

It’s the moments like that which make it all worth it, Katara thinks, and takes a deep breath as they go through the 300th round of revisions on a law about street signs.

*

The night of her 18th birthday, they ship in fireworks from the Fire Nation. The bright colors shine against the lights already hanging in the sky, little paper lanterns strewn about while vendors from all over the world sell food and toys from other nations. It’s her birthday, so she and Sokka throw a festival for their people. A chance to taste and see some of the things they had learned on their travels, for the people who will likely never live a day without the bite of ice in their lungs.

"I think it's time," he says, sitting next to her on the roof. Another brightly-colored explosion lights the air above them, but neither looks up. The real show is the joy on everyone's faces below them, not the sky above, so that's where they look.

"Time for what?" she asks. She knows what he means, but she doesn't have to acknowledge it.

"Time for you to leave," he says, pulling his gaze away to stare at her. She pulls her legs up underneath her the same way she has since she was five, eight, fourteen, and doesn't meet his gaze.

"I'm supposed to be in charge, I can't leave."

" _ We're _ supposed to be in charge, little miss bossy-pants," her brother grumbles, nudging her. She thinks about falling off the roof for comedic effect, but decides against it. "And they don't need you anymore."

"Now that's just rude. I'm the best Waterbender we’ve got, and you're saying you don't even need--"

"Katara," he says, uncharacteristically serious. (Getting married, she decides, has done him a world of good. Suki is the best.) "I love you. I will always need you in my life. You're the one who keeps me on track. But re-elections are coming up. Things are safe, and good, and stable. You've done a great job training Nalaka, and Jebin will stay to finish training her, they don't need him up North for a few more years. The port is done. We have steady trade, and food, and a way for people to fix it if those things ever become untrue. You've done your job here. Now it's time for you to go look after yourself for once."

"You won't be coming with me, will you?" she asks. Her heart feels heavy at the thought of leaving after all this, after enduring a silent house together, after training in the early mornings and living side by side for so many years. She can't imagine a life where she doesn't have to drag Sokka out of his sleepy haze and into the day. She's not even sure she wants to.

"No," he says quietly. "I said that you were done, not that I was. I'm still working with Qiu to revamp our military. And…"

He looks out across the rooftops, old and new, across the light and life that dance in arctic shadows. There's something relaxed in his face, she realizes, that she's never seen before. He looks… safe. Happy. Whole. This is what her brother looks like without a war, with a home and a purpose and a wife. She tries to memorize the sight of him so she'll have something to hold close when she's alone.

"We haven't talked about it, Suki and I. Whether or not we'll have kids. We're not ready. We're not even ready to have that discussion. But… If we do. Someday, if I have a kid, I want to take them here and show them all the things I built for them, all the ways I worked to make them a home."

"It's my home too, you know," she says, but it's half-hearted.

"Oh, sis," he says, and shuffles closer so their shoulders are touching. "Of course it is. It'll always be your home. But there's more out there, for you--you always liked seeing new places more than I did. Now's your chance--go see the world. See it in peace. See it rebuilding, bit by bit, and find all the ways you want to help heal the people there. When you're done, we'll still be here, waiting to welcome you home."

(Katara cries-- _ tearbending, _ she remembers with a sniffle,  _ like that stupid play _ \--and it hurts like letting go, like growing.)

(She leaves three weeks later.)


	2. terra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Lover's Cave just outside Omashu, she wanders in and lets her torch blow out. She remembers the stories she was told, about lost lovers and true love's kiss, and feels a deep, thrumming satisfaction when the whole cave glows beautifully despite her being the sole occupant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Terra" means "land" in Latin; it also happens to be the scientific name for Earth

She goes to Kyoshi Island, first. She steps foot on the shore, sunlight on her skin, children laughing in the distance, and feels something in her uncoil. The last time she was here, she had barely known waterbending. Sokka had still been buried in old ideas and traditions, Aang a child looking for joy, Suki a stranger with some face paint. The last time she was here, they had left the place burning.

Now Suki runs up, beaming, and helps her beach the ship. She brings her back to the island, to the training grounds and the fountain in the courtyard and the kitchen, where they dig out some sweet fruits and two spoons and get to work.

She spends a week with the warriors, going through bending stances while the others practice offense and defense. She lets Ty Lee braid her hair and wonders what she would've thought of this two years ago, or three, or four. She thinks that depending on the day, she would've laughed or maybe attacked.

She considers staying. She could--she has a spot here, with these strong women and soft smiles. She watches the sunrise while she sits on the porch of Kyoshi's house. She drinks tea and feels steeped in tradition, and for a few minutes, she can see it laid out before her: months spent here, learning and growing and loving. She'd learn the names of all the kids on the island, and all the exercises the warriors do, and the way warmth tastes on her skin when she can stay in the light for as long as she'd like. She would be happy, here.

But she hadn't left to be happy. Or, rather, that wasn't  _ all _ she had left to do. She had left to fix things, to help people, to see the world and help lay a foundation for lasting peace. Kyoshi Island, she thinks, tea cooling between her hands while light glints off new roofs, does not need her.

It doesn't take long to make a choice, after that. When she tells Suki, it's through a small avalanche of apologies and excuses and reasons she loves Kyoshi but can't stay. Suki stops her halfway through, a small but knowing smile balanced gracefully on her lips.

"Katara," her sister-in-law says, looking at her fondly, "did you really think any of us assumed you'd stay? We know you have to leave. We've always known you would head on. Obviously we'll miss you, but you can't stay here. It's not in your nature."

And there's not much Katara can say to that, really. She smiles and launches herself into Suki's arms, and brushes away her tears when they form.

Something about leaving Kyoshi hurts. Maybe it's the sudden absence of friendly faces, or the fact that leaving her family behind had felt so different from this, from leaving these people who had no reason to embrace her but did so anyway.

Still. Katara stiffens her shoulders and takes deep breaths, memorizing the  _ beach-storm-wild-clove _ smell of Kyoshi, and moves. It's one step after another, and then she's in the ship, bending herself out into the unforgiving world.

*

The Earth Kingdom, she thinks, is a strange place. Not quite like the soaring majesty of the abandoned Air Temples, or like the lush wilderness of her own Water Tribe homeland. It’s not even like the cinnamon-spice burn of the air and people of the Fire Nation, their nearest neighbor.

The Earth Kingdom is… big. Sprawling, really. And it's all so  _ different _ , too: she spends weeks wandering in a way she was never able to while they were searching for Aang's teacher, or for everything that came after. Back then, her eyes were peeled for Fire Nation soldiers around every corner, barely even noticing the land or people around her.

Now, she has time. She doesn't have a deadline, or even really a destination. She's been more or less following the coast up towards Omashu, afraid of getting too far from a water source, just in case.

Her shoes fall apart after the third day of walking, so she spends a week without them. Her legs ache a little less each day, and her feet are already beginning to callous when she runs into her next major town. She thinks about buying another pair, but then she stops. She remembers Toph, standing barefoot on whatever solid ground she could find, forcing the world to bend to her wishes rather than the other way around.

Katara looks down, takes note of the dust and grime and rich soil that have already begun to cake her skin, sticking to the sweat. She glances around at how many Earth Kingdom citizens walk without anything between them and the element they bend, and smiles, says  _ no, thank you. _

The best way to learn a place, she muses, is to feel it--around you, beneath you, against your skin and in your lungs. Walk barefoot through the Earth Kingdom and you'll learn more about it than you ever could flying overhead.

Katara wants to learn. She wants to learn about the Earth Kingdom, about the ruins of the Air Temples, about the crowded marketplaces in the Fire Nation. She wants to learn so much about the world, wants to help heal it.

And at least for this moment in time, there's absolutely nothing standing in her way.

*

As she travels, she does her best to help those around her. Sometimes it's charity--fighting off bandits to aid a small town, aiding in irrigation projects to reduce the famine which is so clearly plaguing citizens across the land. It only takes a few conversations with farmers to realize that the first target Ozai hit on the day of Sozin's Comet were the grain fields in the most fertile part of the country. It will all regrow--possibly even more productive than before--but such changes take time, and too many are going hungry in the meanwhile.

Other times, though, it’s much less impressive than that. She'll offer to supply ice for ice boxes or to clean in exchange for food or shelter. She loses count of how many wells she digs.

Sometimes, when no one needs a waterbender's help, she offers manual labor instead. She tries using water whips in the fields once, but the family she's harvesting for quickly stops her, showing her the way their curved blades apply pressure so that the stems are forced shut and the grain will take longer to spoil. After that, she switches to their twin swords, thankful for the callouses on her palms and fingers which have built up over years of leather working and battle.

On the rare occasion that there's real trouble--like when she runs into ex-soldiers turned band of slavers, moving their cargo in the dead of night--she doesn't hesitate to act. She moves quickly, and when necessary, lethally.

(She was born and raised in a war, spent almost a year on the front lines. She's killed before, and she will again. She's never  _ liked _ the feel of that blood on her hands, but it doesn't stop her from sleeping anymore, either, and sometimes she wonders what she says about her. Whether that makes her the monster that the ruling council had claimed she was.)

(The rest of the time, she doesn't think much of it at all. She walks through life the way all her people do: honestly.  _ Here I am _ , she tells the world _ , flaws and strengths and all. Come and see me if you dare _ .)

But she doesn't act the same way she used to, either. She isn't who she used to be. She's governed, now--she's seen the headache that comes with vigilantism and rebel movements, and the paperwork alone is enough to make her cringe in sympathy, so whenever possible, she tells the authorities first. Sometimes when there isn't time, or when they aren't going to do anything despite the clear necessity, she'll act anyway, but for the most part, she reports any issues she finds and offers her assistance. They occasionally take her up on it, although more often than not, it's easier for everyone if the proper people put crimes to a stop.

Katara tries to help where she can. Sometimes that means healing the sick, flooding rice fields that need it, engaging in skirmishes with petty criminals--but sometimes it means being a friendly ear, or helping watch kids and animals while the adults go shopping. Sometimes she isn't needed at all, and she learns to accept this, to nod and smile and move on, because maybe she doesn't need to be part of everything that happens all the time.

She remembers how irritated Toph had gotten with her hovering, and laughs to herself. She lets herself feel proud, because she's changed. Maybe it was for the better or maybe it was for the worse, but she's changed, she's grown, and that alone is worth celebrating.

(An old Water Tribe proverb:  _ the most dangerous waters are those which are still _ . Make of this what you will.)

_ She _ is worth celebrating, so she does. In the quiet nights spent curled around a campfire by herself, she eats sweet wild berries and closes her eyes while the breeze ruffles across her face. She takes a deep breath in, feels how simultaneously small and large she is in the universe, and smiles, to herself and for herself. She celebrates her victories, big and small, all the missteps in between, all the ways she's changed along the way.

*

In the Lover's Cave just outside Omashu, she wanders in and lets her torch blow out. She remembers the stories she was told, about lost lovers and true love's kiss, and feels a deep, thrumming satisfaction when the whole cave glows beautifully despite her being the sole occupant.

_ I love myself _ , she tells the empty space, exploring herself with her own fingers and relearning her body as she slowly has been over the past year,  _ and that is all I need _ .

*

As she travels further up the coast, she feels as summer hits its height and breaks. There are a few miserably bright and humid days which stretch on too long, but then it starts to get better. She weathers the worst of the heat in a small port town just to the west of the trail she's loosely been following. Something about the whole place feels eerily familiar, but she can't quite place where she's seen it before.

It isn't until her third day, when she sees a strange but easily recognizable painting in the cafe she's stopped in, that she puts the pieces together. It's a well-painted piece, delicate but confident ink strokes telling a masterful story; her only complaint is that the artist seemed to be trying to make Aang look twice his age and three times as muscled.

The waitress catches her staring at it, and must mistake her expression, because she cheerfully launches into an explanation. "Oh, yes, the Avatar stopped here on his way to defeat the Fire Lord. We've become quite famous for that; plenty of travelers come this way to see where he's been. It's been great for us villagers. Is that why you came? To visit where he was?"

Katara feels her lips twitch into a traitorous smile, but she’s doing her best not to let her amusement show. "Not exactly. I'm just passing through. That's cool, though. Did you meet him?"

"No," the girl says, accepting her explanation easily enough. "I was out of town that week, unfortunately. Can you imagine it, though? What he must be like? I bet he's so serious; those strong and silent types always are."

"Maybe," Katara responds, her self-control quickly falling away as she tries to imagine anyone meeting Aang and thinking of him as serious or silent. Thankfully, the waitress leaves before her laughter begins.

Later that night, while she's thinking about the ludicrous nature of what these townspeople seem to believe, she catches a flaw in her own thinking. When she'd made the connection, she'd immediately remembered the town as the place where they'd stopped to stock up just before that massive storm, and with the Aang who'd been traveling with them at the time. But the truth is that if these townspeople were to meet him, it's quite possible they'd come away thinking of him as strong and serious, if not necessarily silent. The little boy who'd been so full of life and joy, who'd been like a little brother to her and Sokka, had been pushed aside as the war raged on and he took on the mantle of Avatar.

That was part of why she hadn't stuck around for more than a few months after the end of the war--Suki and Toph and Mai had already left, heading off to take care of their various peoples and families, Sokka was staring south wistfully at every opportunity, and Aang… wasn't the Aang she'd met a little over a year prior. He was more serious, more dedicated and focused. All good traits, but ones that it hurt to see, ones that made it feel like the boy she'd traveled with and watched grow was being erased. Between that and the strange energy between her and Zuko that manifested as awkward pauses and skittish looks anytime they were in the same room, she hadn't thought there was much point in sticking around. No one needed her help, and all her friends were becoming unrecognizable, and so she had returned home to breathe and remember and eventually start a revolution.

Katara rents a room in the village with the meager savings she's made through odd jobs rather than returning to her camp that night. She gives herself one night with a tub and a real bed and a small mound of chocolate to mourn what was, what could have been.

She cries. She cries because they all grew up so quickly, because her friends are all children warriors, because Zuko's father gave him a scar across his face in front of a crowd of screaming people and because Aang woke up to find his entire civilization demolished and because she went from a girl who could barely bend to a woman who marched into battle in less than a year. Because those changes, necessary or not, good or not, wiped away a part of who they were before. She loves herself, her friends, her family. She loves them enough to remember what they've lost.

(She is stronger now, but every step forward is another away from that little girl who remembers what a mother's hug feels like.)

(Nights like these, she decides halfway through the chocolate, are the worst kinds of growing pains.)

"Change is healthy," she tells herself, but what she means is  _ the most dangerous waters are those which are still _ .

*

When she gets up the next morning, she feels better. A full night's rest helped a lot, and the bath certainly hadn't hurt. While living in the woods has its benefits, the lack of reliable bathing water is not one of them, and wiping off all the dust and grime of the last few weeks feels cleansing in more ways than one.

(The dust comes away. The callouses don't. Katara is glad; she's worked for those bits of protection, just as she's worked for all the scars her body has accumulated throughout the years, and she wouldn't want them vanishing so quickly.)

At any rate, she feels human again, so she decides to head into town and see what odd jobs are waiting to be done. Surely on a port like this, there's someone who could use a waterbender.

As it turns out, there are plenty--after she proves she really is a bender, small herds come up to her looking for healing, for help with fishing trips, with retrieving lost boats. It takes her nearly three days to get through them all, and she collapses each night barely able to move, but it's a good ache. It's been a while since she's done any challenging or extended bending, much less had this much water to bend, and there's the same quiet stretch as when she exercises for the first time in a while. Beyond the extra practice, she just feels  _ good _ . She likes helping people, and it feels good to do so in such a relaxed way for once. Cleaning up drinking water is much less high-stakes than ending a war, and she enjoys the zen nature of it all.

By the end of the third day, she's made a pretty sizable contribution to her money stash, and the itch to keep moving has settled in, so she does. She quietly packs up and she's past the gate when the sun breaks over the horizon.

*

The further north she goes, the more people she finds dressed in shades of red. It throws her off guard, after so many weeks of green rolling in every direction; the first few nights she's into colony territory, she's so on edge that she wakes with every muffled creak of the forest. It feels like the beginning, like nothing's changed, like any second Fire Nation soldiers are going to burst through the woods and arrest her, leave her tied up in a room without water.

Katara counts the callouses on her hands and takes deep breaths to lure herself back to sleep. Things are different now.  _ She _ is different. She won't allow old fears and worn-in instincts tell her anything else.

The further she goes, the more she sees how right she is. These towns aren't quite like anything she's ever seen before. Yes, there are Fire Nation people walking around--but they're doing just that, walking around, living their lives in peace on Earth Kingdom soil. She sees whole families of laughing children and frazzled but smiling parents, green and red mixed together without thought or care.

(She remembers that these colonies have been here for a hundred years, that for as long as her tribe has been inhaling ash and exhaling war, they have been living side by side as one people.)

It takes her two weeks to venture into the first town by daylight, and when she does, no one so much as bats an eye at her. She's wearing an amalgamation of fraying Earth Kingdom clothes, her dark skin and blue eyes clearly marking her as a foreigner, and  _ no one cares _ .

One night, after spending all day fixing the roof of a cafe, she's sitting down for a meal ("On the house, it's the least we can do") when the full weight of it all hits her. There are quiet conversations about Earth Kingdom famine mixed equally with sad murmurs of the sudden turmoil and suffering in the Fire Nation, and on her plate in this Earth Kingdom town are the skewers of spicy meat she and Sokka and the others had eaten every night for months.

Part of the reason she'd taken her time through the Earth Kingdom, she admits to herself grudgingly, was because she wasn't quite sure where to go next. Because she knew that the Fire Nation probably needed her and because she wasn't sure she was ready to go back.

But she can't pretend that's not her destination anymore; it simply is. When Katara left the South Pole, she had set out to help heal the world, to make things better for everyone, including the Fire Nation. Despite all the hurt and pain the war with them has caused her, she remembers the beauty and vibrancy of it all. She remembers walking along the beaches and feeling the warmth and light, remembers the kind people and the spicy-sweet foods.

She spent months hiding and running and fighting for her life there.

But she also spent months living and breathing and bartering, fighting for justice and for other people. The Fire Nation hurt the world, yes, but Katara thinks of Hama, of battle, of full moons over killing fields, and knows her hands aren't exactly clean either. She's suddenly and deeply homesick for those dumb, fire-fueled islands.

When they come to take away her empty plate, she bows in the traditional Fire Nation way to show her thanks and they smile back easily.

*

She goes a little further along the coast before trying to find a ride east. She knows what she wants, where she's going, but she also knows that there are months of muscle built up in her legs from walking and that there's something in her gut pulling her north. She walks on empty trails in deep woods, so alone she wonders if the whole world has ended and someone forgot to let her know, and when she finally comes to civilization she chokes on a laugh.

She's back at Makapu, because of course she is. Why wouldn't she find herself at the foot of this volcano, the rock wall they created still hovering in place at the edge of the town?

It takes a minute for her to find her bearings again--she hasn't been in here in what, three years? Three and a half?--but she finds Aunt Wu's without much trouble. It's the biggest building, and the one in the middle, she remembers that much.

When she walks in, the girl at the front desk doesn't recognize her. It's not until they've been arguing for five minutes and Wu herself comes up to see what all the fuss is about that she manages to get another audience, because Wu knows her immediately.

"Oh," the aging woman says, her eyes widening, "so you've returned."

"I have," Katara agrees. "Sorry it took me so long."

"Not to worry, not to worry. Well, what are you waiting for? Come back, we have much to discuss."

Katara leaves the girl at the desk fuming and only feels a little smug about it.

*

She sits on the same cushion she had what feels like lifetimes ago, when Aunt Wu had promised her she'd marry a powerful bender and then looked up, something sharp in her gaze, and said, "about as powerful as you'll be, I'd say." She never managed to get much of an answer out of Aang about what his fortune was; only that it was something to do with his legacy and a big project that would take a long time.

"So," Wu says as she sits across from Katara, "you won the war."

"With a lot of help, yes."

"The world is different, now." The fire crackles between them, and Wu's eyes seem distant in a way that makes Katara think of spirits and the blurring lines between worlds. "What do you intend to do with it?"

"It's not up to me," Katara says, and it's not a lie but it also kind of is. The world is in her hands, malleable and soft as the children she had helped bring into the world. It is in everyone's.

"Are you sure?" Aunt Wu asks, and Katara thinks this woman probably knows better than most what she means. She lets it go, though, turning her gaze to the cracked bones and rune stones before her after a moment. "I've been keeping an eye on you, you know. You've done some impressive things. That bit with taking over your tribe? Very nicely done."

"Thank you, but again, that wasn't just me."

"No, it wasn't," Aunt Wu agrees. Katara suspects she's just passed some kind of test. "What will you do now?"

"I'm not really sure," she admits. "I want to go to the Fire Nation, help with repairs and getting them back on their feet, but I don't know beyond that. What will I do?"

Aunt Wu smiles kindly. "Great things. But only if you do them."

"I don't think I understand. If I'm supposed to do great things then of course I'll do them."

"Not necessarily. There are plenty of people who find out they're meant for something bigger than themselves and relax, relying on the fact that they know it will happen. I see great things in your future, love and growth and good, but only if you continue to push yourself to make it happen. Otherwise you will be stagnant, and all your potential will rot." Wu cocks her head, her smile sharpening. "But then, I suspect you know that."

"The most dangerous waters are those which are still," Katara murmurs, nodding in agreement. The weight of what-might-be feels heavy on her shoulders, but not unfamiliar. This is not the first time the world has been hers for the taking.

"And what does that mean?" Wu askes. There is something ancient sleeping in her face that makes Katara suspect she already knows.

"It's not really the rapids or currents that are the most lethal. Those can kill you if you're not careful, definitely, but the thing you have to look out for the most are calm waters, because you don't know where to find the dangers in them. You won't know about poisons or infections until it's too late."

"Very good. Now, little waterbender, where will your tide take you next?"

Katara lets her gaze wander towards one of the windows. There’s the solidified rock wall, and beyond it, towering into the sky, a volcano. They'd stopped a volcano from destroying this town when she was still barely a waterbender, when she was spending every spare moment staring at a scroll as if it held all the answers, as if it could fix everything she'd lost. They had been barely more than children, alone and scared, not sure if they'd survive the next day much less win the war, and they'd saved this town and these people.

Something settles in Katara's stomach. It's time to move on to her next task.

"Wherever I'm needed," she says, and it's true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> self-love and -respect are important, so everyone take care of yourselves please <3


	3. ustrina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not until she's ordering spicy noodles from her favorite cart in the marketplace that she realizes that she's been living in the palace for three months; that she has a routine and a favorite marketplace vendor and the beginnings of a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "ustrina" means "burning" or "place of burning", according to my very favorite latin-english translation tool (which is at least a little valid, coming from a classics major with six years of experience studying latin)
> 
> guys ngl my first year of college is rapidly finishing up (as in i have less than a week left of classes and the looming finals...eep) and i am running out of steam. today's chapter is brought to you by me, a f o o l who decided to update and post this rather than work on the six page paper i have due in two days (of which i have written a grand total of.... the introduction).
> 
> BUT it's a worthwhile cause, because at long last, zuko and katara! in one place! together!!!
> 
> thank you so much to everyone who's stuck with the story, or just stumbled onto it! you all leave me such lovely comments and i absolutely adore you all <3 
> 
> please keep yourselves safe and (hopefully) enjoy the chapter!

The moment she steps off the boat and onto Fire Nation soil again, it becomes immediately and painfully clear that she is needed  _ everywhere _ .

Well. That's an exaggeration. It's not the second that she steps back on land, and she's not  _ needed _ , exactly. More like--highly useful? In demand? These people, these brave and shining and warm people (and spirits above, if her past self could hear her now--) are in the process of picking themselves back up, and they're figuring it out. They're getting there.

But Katara knows how to heal, knows what it is to dig until you hit ash and have to breathe it in and keep going. She knows the fastest ways to accomplish what needs to be done because she has done it before, careful and slow, trial and error and so many mistakes that some days it felt like she was in a blizzard of her own making.

Katara has had to do it all blind. Something in her says that the least she can do is show these people the way.

When she wanders into town, it's not until she sees the huge stone walls surrounded by cheering children that she realizes where she is. It's the town where Aang had gone to school--Hui Ling, maybe? The names had all started to blur together at that point for her.

She remembers this place, though. She remembers the cave where they had hosted the weirdest dance party of her life, the glimmer of candle light against so many stalactites, the taste of the meat skewers Sokka had stolen for them to share.

She takes in a deep breath, feels the familiar tang of ocean breeze against the back of her throat, and lets herself admit that for all the bad memories of the Fire Nation, she has a lot of good, too.

Katara thinks that's a pattern she's seen a lot of, if she's being honest. For all the bad in anything, there's usually a lot of good, too.

The first few days, she wanders through the marketplace in the day, trying to pick up on where she's needed most based on the gossip floating through the air. She hesitates to offer her services as a Waterbender--there's no telling how much of the nationalistic spirit Ozai and his predecessors instilled still lingers--but she does a few errands that require nothing more than manual labor or a basic knowledge of wild plants in the area. At night, she retreats to the beach and sleeps in the warm sand with her back to the ocean, trusting the gentle lull of the waves to help her sleep and to warn her if anyone's coming.

It's not until her fifth day that she gets recognized.

"Katara!" someone shouts from across the courtyard, and Katara herself jumps a little. It's been almost two weeks since she's heard her own name, rather than just 'miss', and the unexpected call makes her startle a little.

When she turns, she sees a girl in red waving excitedly at her. Her long hair is tucked up into familiar braids, and Katara is hit with a wave of nostalgia. It's been--two? three?--years since she's seen her, since she was fifteen and sitting in low light at the edge of a cave full of noise, their fingers laced together.

"Zaya!" she shouts back, rushing over and nearly falling over with the force of her hug.

"Where have you been?" Zaya demands, holding her tight, and oh spirits Katara had forgotten how nice it feels to just be  _ held _ .

"Sorry," she says, choking on a laugh, "I had some errands to run."

"Errands like stopping a war?" Zaya asks wryly. Katara tenses, that old instinctual fear of being discovered rising up again.

_ It's fine _ , she chants to herself, hoping to steady her heart rate at least a little.  _ It's fine, you're okay; it's Zaya, she won't hurt you _ .

"So I guess you figured it out. What gave us away?" Katara manages to ask after a moment. Zaya hasn't let her go yet, and despite the weird looks they're getting from passersby, she doesn't want to stop. She never wants this feeling-- _ safe, my friend is safe and here and warm in my arms _ \--to stop.

Zaya snorts and the motion rumbles through Katara's cheek and down her shoulders. "You mean other than those absurd dance moves your friend could only have pulled off with Airbending? Pretty much everything. You guys look nothing like colony kids, you have unusual names, you dressed… let's say  _ uniquely. _ When rumors about the Avatar traveling through the Fire Nation with a few other kids started up, it didn't take much to put the pieces together."

"Yeah," Katara says, at last pulling away with a flush. "I guess we weren't quite as subtle as we meant to be sometimes."

"Come on," Zaya says, grinning and squeezing her hand tight. "We're going to go get lunch and you're going to tell me  _ all _ about how things really played out."

*

That night, Katara stays with Zaya's family. Her bed is soft and comfortable, but it still takes her a long time to get to sleep. Her head is swirling, thoughts much too active to let her get any rest. Memories of Zaya's little brother sitting at the dinner table, leaning forward to say  _ did you really beat Princess Azula _ swirling together with older ones, ones of Zaya herself leaning forward while they were sitting in a dark corner and whispering  _ so tell me, what's the rest of the world like _ , of what Zaya's lips had tasted like, all nutmeg and sea salt and--

Katara shifts onto her side. This is definitely not helping her sleep.

After a what feels like at least two hours, she gives up. She gets out of her bed and slips outside to sit under the moonlight, breathing slowly and steadily as the distant sound of crashing waves. She tries not to think, but it doesn't work very well. She just winds up drafting versions of her next letter to Sokka in her head:

_ Dear Sokka, I've made it to the Fire Nation. I'm staying with a friend I never told you I made-- _

_ Dear Sokka, How're you and Suki? I hope you two are doing well! I'm here in the Fire Nation, at long last, and I thought about you while I bought some of that meat-- _

_ Dear Sokka, I'm not sure how long it'll take to write you again after this since I have no idea what I'm doing-- _

_ Dear Sokka, I miss you. Tell me more about the sunrises; I hate that I'm missing them-- _

_ Dear Sokka, Everything's fine, but I'm staying with a Fire Nation girl I kissed when you were out doing damage control for Aang, and I know you'll be upset that I never told you but I was so scared of everything when it happened-- _

_ Dear Sokka, I've been craving seal jerky like you wouldn't believe-- _

_ Dear Sokka, I'm really looking forward to seeing Zuko again, lately I've been realizing how much I've missed him like crazy-- _

When the sun finally rises, she has her final draft ( _ Dear Sokka, How're the Healing Wing renovations coming along? Has Dad been eating the right amount again? I'm in the Fire Nation now, so expect more hawks in the future… _ ) ready to go. Zaya walks her to the office where she finds a messenger hawk to rent, and she sends it without any fanfare.

That night is a full moon, and Zaya's whole family walks down to the beach with Katara to watch a real Waterbender. Standing ankle-deep in the surf while she draws seawater into the shapes of jumping dolphins, she remembers for the millionth time just how bizarre her whole life has become. How wonderful.

*

The further west she goes, the more people recognize her. Or, not her, exactly--no one else calls her name in crowded marketplaces and hugs her--but who she is to the world.  _ That's her _ , people whisper as she passes, _that's the Waterbender who fought an Agni Kai._

Sometimes they say it with respect, with reverence, but more often she hears it muttered with scorn and spite. Once, an old man in an alley hisses  _ south pole scum _ at her when she passes. Katara barely manages to stifle her flinch.

(Everything is different after the war, except when it isn't.)

Katara takes a deep breath and feels her way through the crowd. She figures out what to look for in towns, in homes, in eyes; she learns when to offer her Bending and when to offer her hands.

(She learns who doesn't want to be offered help at all; there's so many of them, these tall and proud people, the children of a nation that raised itself up from dragons. She catches herself thinking about scars and honor and the fact that Zuko must've been 13 when he started searching for Aang--)

She thinks instead about the Fire Nation dueling to the death, and her people refusing to bow their spines even when they starve, and the Earth Kingdom citizens planting their feet and walls and roots in the ground and not giving way to anything at all. She thinks of the old council, unwilling to let go of traditions and war patrols and power, and of the monks who tried to shape a boy into a hero before he was even supposed to know about the power that rested in his bones. She thinks that maybe the whole world could stand to have a little less pride and a little more kindness.

*

When she sees Jang Hui again, she has to sit down where she is before she looses balance from the ~~laughs?~~ ~~sobs?~~ hysterics she's gone into. She isn't sure what's happening but she knows she's not quite breathing right and the world feels a little distant.

The town's waters are still mostly clean, though, so there's that. The cliff where the factory had been seems to be growing things again, and she's sitting next to some more of those purple-berry bushes, and the irony of turning up here just when she thought she was hopelessly lost is just a little too much right now.

It takes her a day to gather her nerve, but when she goes into town, not many people recognize her. That merchant--Dock, maybe?--gives her a nod and a thumbs up, which she veers away from, and a teenager watches her with wide eyes, but no one offers her free food or a place to stay. For the first time in weeks, she feels invisible.

It's… nice, if she's honest. She appreciates the free meals and soft beds, but the hero worship it comes with hasn't stopped being uncomfortable. Katara, the girl who grew up as one member of a working village, who spent a year traveling the world discreetly, who stood in the shadow of princes and heiresses and an Avatar, finds the wide eyes and stammers strange. No matter how well-intentioned, they grate against her skin.

But. There are still signs of the Painted Lady, everywhere she looks, and that she can smile at. That is one of the things she still feels  _ proud _ of.

She passes statuettes, murals, and a small shrine at the warehouse which still serves as a hospital. Across from the inn, there's a piece of graffiti--a silhouette of a woman with a lithe frame and flowing robes, back-dropped against billowing smoke and clean water. When she sees it, something in Katara eases. She knows the rustle of those robes, the slide of the veil through dense fog--she knows the weight of those things on her shoulders and she knows she can carry them. The certainty is intoxicating.

It's not until that moment (standing in front of a portrait of who she once was, everything that has been mixing together into a medley of who she is now, the ghost of face paint thick on her eyelids--) that she remembers this is not the first time people have seen her and thought  _ hero _ .

*

She stays in Jang Hui for a week, and for all the good she sees in her wake, she also sees some bad.

The river isn't as bad as it was originally, but it's not as good as she left it, either. That first exhausting day, stretching her bending to the limit to save this crumbling town… it had done a lot of good. It was worth it. But with no Waterbender to keep up maintenance, and no technology to take her place, there's only so much river boats and nets can do. Without the factory and the armies passing through, Jang Hui's waters are a lot cleaner, but the town also gets far fewer travelers and a lot less commerce.

She wonders if it was the right move, leaving so soon. She wonders if there are other places where she could've done more good by staying.

She isn't quite sure she knows what the right move is, anymore.

*

In North Chung-Ling, formerly known as Fire-Fountain City, she walks through the streets during the day (it's not safe to go out at night, everyone keeps telling her) and sees the alleys filled with tents and cardboard and buzzing flies. Men and women with shattered eyes gaze blearily in her general direction as she passes, but they don't bother to ask for money.

"Veteran soldiers," the kind woman at the noodle stand says when Katara asks. "When Ozai and the others were in charge, there was always a fight going on somewhere. But with Firelord Zuko, and the pressure from the other nations, a lot of the military's been disbanded. These people don't have a job or a place to go home to. A lot of 'em enlisted because they were street urchins, or the last of their family, and being a soldier gave them a purpose with steady pay and food and a roof over their heads."

"That's terrible," Katara breathes, her stomach a tight knot in her gut.

The old woman nods tiredly. "War is bloody, but peace can be just as cruel. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

*

She's halfway out of town when she quite literally runs into the caravan.

She hasn't been paying attention to where she's going, focusing on the puffing clouds far above, and she lands with an audible smack in the dirt when she hits the ostrich horse's solid flank. She's still trying to pick herself up when she's suddenly surrounded by fire benders, all scowling down and looking ready to attack.

"State your name!" one of them barks at her, and Katara blinks.

She's just opening her mouth to ask what's happening when she hears his voice.

"What's going on?" Zuko asks, clambering out of the carriage.

"Sir," one of the women says, with the tired air of someone who's repeated the same thing many,  _ many _ times, "We must ask you to stay in the vehicle unless we specifically ask you to come out after verifying that it is safe."

"Yeah, yeah," he says. He also sounds like he's said this a lot. He's in formal attire, robes and top bun and everything, but for a moment all Katara can see is the same scruffy-haired teen who had come to them to help stop his father.

"Zuko!" she shouts, before she can think better of it. He looks around for a moment, trying to figure out where it's coming from, and then meets her gaze on the ground.

"Katara!" he calls back, equally excited. He rushes forward, through the herd of soldiers, and pulls her to her feet. "It's been ages!"

"I know," she says, hugging him fiercely. She's missed having him around to use as a heat-pack.

"What're you doing here? I thought you were traveling the Earth Kingdom."

"How'd you know that?" she asks, curious and a little bemused. Zuko flushes and she tries to hold back a laugh.

"Sokka and I still talk."

"Figures," she says wryly. "You two are still conspiring behind my back."

"It's not conspiring! And what do you mean 'still'?"

"Mhmm. Because the Ginseng Incident was totally not plotted by the two of you."

"That was years ago!"

"Has Iroh let it go?"

"Well, no, but--"

"Then neither will I."

The guard makes a little coughing sound, watching them with raised eyes.

"Oh," Zuko says, flushing like he's still a teenage boy and not the leader of one of the most powerful nations in the world. (He's both.) "Commander Girah, this is Katara. She's the Waterbender who traveled with the Avatar and I."

"The Waterbender?" Girah muses, looking her up and down. Katara feels small under this woman's gaze, but she makes an effort to stand with her spine straight and her chin raised. She may be dressed like a peasant right now, mud-stained and sweaty, but she has lead revolutions and gone to war and saved more lives than this woman can comprehend. She deserves better than to be judged by what she's wearing.

"Very well," the captain says, her gaze steady. "And what is your purpose here in the Fire Nation?"

Katara forces herself to hold her position. She is not some apologetic thing that cowers before this woman's icy glare--not anymore, if she ever even was.

"I'm here to help with reconstruction efforts. Your people could use an extra set of hands to rebuild--I'm here to offer mine."

Girah looks skeptical, but she doesn't outright try to stab Katara, so she'll count it as a win.

"Come with me," Zuko says, grabbing her hand. His face is lit up with excitement, and he's using his free hand to gesture wildly. It's actually kind of adorable. "I'm on my way to a meeting with the leaders of Gung Pao, and I could really use the backup."

"I don't know…" she says, hesitant. She hasn't even thought about politics in weeks, she's covered in mud, and honestly, she's completely exhausted. Helping Zuko argue with representatives from the bordering Earth Kingdom territories sounds like the last thing she wants to do right now.

"It'll be like old times," he says, still so excited. He's smiling at her and it makes his whole face softer, somehow. She'd forgotten that look of his--it's strange to see it on him like this, with his hair pulled up and dressed in formal royal attire.

_ It'll be like old times _ , Katara thinks. "Sure, I'll tag along."

*

The fire nation palace is even more imposing than she remembers, towering far above her head, columns of red marble and beautifully intricate tapestries hanging everywhere. It makes her heart pang with homesickness, for seal jerky done right, for their mural wall covered in messy handprints and delicate swirls of color.

And yet. Katara remembers the way some of the Earth Kingdom generals would talk gleefully about tearing down this palace, when it was a few hours too late and a few glasses to many. She remembers the way they had chuckled as they talked about ripping up the delicate silks, toppling the great columns, melting down the delicate scrolling works of gold.

This place that towers around her, that makes her feel small and always smells faintly of spice, was synonymous in her mind with evil for so long.

She looks to her side and sees Zuko, his shoulders relaxed and hair finally out of the traditional top knot. He looks like the teenage boy who once snuck her out of a conference and into a nearby orchard to eat not-quite-ripe cherries until both their stomachs hurt, not the Firelord. But she was at the meeting just a few hours ago; she knows he's both.

This palace was a place where a lot of bad things happened, yes. But it is also her dorky friend's home; it's gardens and kitchens and art and history and whole generations of families that have dedicated their lives to this building. It would be a shame, Katara thinks, to loose that.

*

She means to leave within the week, she really does. It's just that there's an endless supply of treaties to bargain over, of people coming to the palace to beg for help, of tiny errands that need to be done that she might as well help with, as the only one without a real job.

She means to leave. But there's always something to do, and one week turns into two turns into a month and keeps going. It's not until she's ordering spicy noodles from her favorite cart in the marketplace that she realizes that she's been living in the palace for three months; that she has a routine and a favorite marketplace vendor and the beginnings of a home.

So. That's a thing.

*

"C'mon," Zuko hisses late one night, "I want to show you something!"

"It is  _ way _ too early to be up, don't you spew that 'rise with the sun crap' at me either, it is the  _ middle of the night _ \--"

"Shhh!" he says, slapping his hand over her mouth. She gives him a Look and less than a second later he's pulling back, hastily apologizing. "Look, you have to come now, okay? I want to show you something."

"Can't it wait till morning?"

"Uh, not really," he says, flushing slightly. "It's kind of a thing you're only supposed to do if you're the Firelord. But you've gotta see it, Katara!"

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," she groans, making one last desperate grab at her pillow.

He ushers he out the door and into the hallway, ducking down and peering around hallways; Katara wonders if he's forgotten that he's the Firelord and there's no one above him to catch him even if they weren't allow to walk through the halls. 

Still, it's fun and silly and makes her a little nostalgic for the war--not the war itself, of course, but those months of complete and total freedom, of slinking through towns in the dead of night with reckless laughter caught behind her teeth. She and Zuko were the only ones who were both decent at stealth and unlikely to get distracted by shiny things every other step, so by the time they were staying on Ember Island, they were the ones in charge of stealing food to eat. It's been years now, since they spent nights once a week competing to one-up each other and wandering in and out of vacation homes still stocked with the essentials, but Katara remembers it like it was yesterday. 

Zuko creeps forward, his hand still tangled up with hers, and rushes across the hall to duck into the throne room. She's about to ask why he couldn't wait until morning to bring her here--she spends enough time in this room as it is--when he darts for the slim door behind the throne. 

"Zuko, no!" she hisses, pulling back. "I can't go in there!" He's standing in front of the entrance to the most sacred place in the palace; no one knows what's in there because only the Firelord is allowed to step foot inside, so there's only ever one living person in the world who knows what it is. It's the inner sanctum, with the highest security possible, and Katara  _ cannot go in _ . 

Zuko turns back to look at her, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed. He's smiling softly and his hands are outstretched, still reaching for where she's pulled away. 

"Please," he says. He doesn't say anything more; he doesn't need to and they both know it. Katara groans, putting her face in her hands. 

"Fine. But when I get executed, I'm telling Sokka it's  _ your  _ fault."

Zuko pulls her through, grinning wildly, and her breath catches in her throat. 

It's a garden, and it's beautiful. 

Everywhere she looks, there are blooming flowers and crawling vines. The thick scents of jasmine and honeysuckle and something else she can't quite name fill the air, and a small fountain gurgles away happily in the middle, next to a tiny sapling. Above her she can just make out a dome--one she's seen from the outside a zillion times but never thought much about. It must be treated glass, designed to look gold from the outside but letting light filter in to create a kind of greenhouse. The water hangs thick in the air, in the plants around her, and Katara thinks for one brief second that this must be some kind of spirit world itself. 

"Zuko, it's..." she says, turning slowly. She would finish that statement but she doesn't have the words. 

"You like it?" he asks eagerly, flushed with pride. "It took me a while to figure out how to take care of them, but all the flowers finally came into bloom last week and I knew you'd want to see."

"You made this?" she says, amazed. Years of friendship and he's never stopped surprising her. 

"Yeah," he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I mean, every Firelord is supposed to in times of peace, apparently. I'm just glad the plants took to the soil, I was afraid that it had been too long, that the damage had been too severe."

"The damage?" Katara asks, curious. 

Zuko grimaces slightly. "If the Firelord declares war, he has to set fire to the garden and can't plant anything new until the war is over. It's supposed to be a way to stop us from act rashly, to understand the cost. If we're willing to send citizens to their deaths, we need to be willing to kill the things we've nurtured; it needs to be something worthy of sacrifice."

"That's... actually a really interesting tradition," Katara muses. "So your father never planted anything, I guess?"

"No," he says quietly. "There hasn't been anything here in a long time."

"You've done a beautiful job, Zuko," she says softly, catching his hand in hers. "I think you'll do a good job of making sure the garden stays here for a long time to come."

*

"Are you leaving?"

He blurts the question, making Katara jump slightly. She hadn't even realized he was out of the meeting yet, much less that he'd had enough time to make it halfway across the palace.

"Mhmm, just for a day or two. Those envoys want me to go to the province with them to check on ways to maximize production with the floods," she says, dropping the last of her clothes in the bag.

"Oh," he breaths, and the relief in his voice makes her turn around. 

"Why?" she asks, frowning slightly. "Do you need me to do something on my way or anything?"

"No, I just..." he pauses, fiddling with his sleeves. "Sokka mentioned that usually you'd be, you know, moving on by now."

Katara doesn't bother to hold back her smile. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"What? Why?" he demands, scowling slightly. 

"I'm not leaving. Not unless you want me to, anyways. There's plenty to keep me busy, and to be honest, I like it here. The spicy food grows on you," she admits. It feels like a relief to say the words out loud, like a plan rather than a vague idea. _Staying_. She used to know what that felt like, and now, having seen the world at peace, she thinks she'd like to learn again. 

"Besides," she continues, brushing past Zuko to reach the bookshelf, "if I left you'd have no one to remind you to stand up to Councilwoman Unawi."

Zuko squawks in protest, his scowl deepening. "I can stand up to her on my own!"

"Mmhmm," Katara says skeptically, "so it was _your_ idea to have them paint you with that ridiculous hat?"

"I--you--" he sputters, turning red, "That doesn't count!"

"Face it, Zuko, you're too nice for your own good. You need me to scare your court into place."

"I do not!" he shouts, but she's already halfway out the door. She's already running late, but she pauses at the threshold, and sure enough it's only seconds before she's being wrapped up in a hug. 

"Travel safely," he mutters, irritation fading away. 

Katara glances back as he pulls away, smiling softly. "I will. I'll be back in a few days, okay? Don't let Unawi boss you around."

Zuko rolls his eyes, definitely more teenage boy than Firelord. "Yeah, yeah, just get out of here."

She leaves her room with laughter hanging in the air around her, a kind of lightness on her chest. She's going to be just fine, she thinks.

They all are. 

*

_ Hey sis, _

_ Everything's good in the South Pole, no need to worry. Suki has been yelling at me for everything I do, you'll be glad to know--she keeps saying she can't wait till the kid is out, but I think I'm at least twice as ready for the whole pregnancy thing to be over as she is.  _

_ I know you're doing alright, because you keep telling me so, but I would like to know why it took a merchant from the Fire Nation for me to find out my little sister has been DATING THE FIRELORD for  _ **_THREE MONTHS_ ** _. Not cool, Katara.  _

_ Seriously though. It's good you guys finally pulled yourselves together; everyone in the betting pool was starting to go a little crazy. _

_ Don't forget to bring Zuko along the next time you come home; Dad's already started recruiting village warriors to discreetly threaten him on your behalf, and he'll be so disappointed if he doesn't get to go through with this elaborate plan of his.  _

_ (By the way, I'm one of those recruits so: tell fireboy that if he hurts you Suki and I will make sure everything he eats for the rest of his life is laced with cactus juice.) _

_ I love you, and I'll see you soon. Don't die in the heat, you nutjob.  _

_ \--Sokka _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND WE'VE FINISHED THE LAST CHAPTER. Next week I'll post the epilogue, but it'll be a bit shorter.
> 
> Some quick notes:
> 
> \- The teenager in Jang Hui is that little boy who she saves, at least in my headcannon
> 
> \- Hopefully the zutara here was fluffy without being disgusting; that's a hard line for me to walk
> 
> \- Katara stays in the Fire Nation for several reasons--part of it is because she and Zuko want to be together, part of it is that she feels like she can do the most good there, and part of it is because it's a place where she feels happy; this isn't "meet a guy and settle down", it's "find a place to call home where you can feel at peace with yourself and work towards your goals"
> 
> \- I had to end it with the letter from Sokka bc WHAT A PRECIOUS KIDDO
> 
> \- Sokka spends the duration of this fic getting letters from both Katara and Zuko where they are constantly mentioning each other and he just always wants to lock them in a room together so they will FINALLY stop please god


	4. laureola

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> laureola means victory or triumph. (It's a little cliche, I know, but I couldn't help myself). 
> 
> Holy hell guys. You have absolutely blown me away with the support for the last chapter. I love you all and I hope this epilogue lives up to what you wanted <3 everyone stay safe with all the corona craziness going on!
> 
> Without further ado, Zutara:

The night air is still and humid around them, their barely-audible footsteps the only sound on the sleeping island. They're shadows, wraiths, slipping gracefully through the dark of night with nothing but the silver of moon above them to light the path across the rooftops--

"Shit!" Zuko says from behind her, stumbling over something and nearly rolling off the roof. Katara waits long enough to make sure he isn't actually going to fall off the roof before letting herself burst into laughter, doubling over to breathe better. 

Zuko scowls, crossing his arms. "It's not my fault! There was an obstacle!"

"Y-yeah," she gasps out, pointing at the toy train he'd stumbled on. "A kid's toy. The Firelord was taken down by a kid's toy."

Oh, god. Her stomach hurt from laughing too hard but she couldn't seem to stop. 

"It wasn't there before! I call for a rematch," he demands, still pouting. 

"You wouldn't have tripped on the toy if you hadn't been cheating by cutting across that balcony. I win, fair and square."

His shoulders sag slightly and he toes at the ground. "Who even lets their kid play on the balcony, anyway, it's stupid."

"Come on," she says, wiping slight tears out from the corners of her eyes. "Let's get home. It's late enough already, anyways."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles. "You know, this  _ is  _ supposed to be a vacation. I don't see why we have to be up so early to meet with the Luns."

"You get up that early every day anyway!"

"Yeah, but not to see  _ people _ !" he says despairingly. Katara holds back her fond smile, trying to stay serious. 

"You know we need their support on the--"

"Education Reformation Bill, yeah, I know, I know. It's just...  _ brunch _ . Why is it always  _ brunch _ ."

"What's wrong with brunch?" she asks, and Zuko gives her a deadpan stare. Fair enough, Katara thinks. 

"Come on," she says, looping her arm through his. "I'll help you get back, make sure you don't trip over yourself again."

"It was a toy!" he cries in exasperation. "I didn't trip over myself!"

Katara snickers, doing nothing to hold back her amusement. 

"Why do I let you do this to me," he asks, looking up at the sky helplessly. "You're cruel. This is torture. I'm going to report you to the royal guard."

"They like me better and you know it," she teases, bumping against his shoulder lightly. 

"Marrying you was the worst mistake I ever made."

She glances sideways, a wry smile on her lips. "Worse than the time with the--"

" _ No _ . Nothing is worse than that."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!" she laughs. 

"Yes, I do," he grumps. "You always bring that up."

"It was cute!"

"It was not cute! I'm the Firelord, I can't be cute! I have to be regal and stuff!"

"You're  _ adorable _ ," she says, pulling open the door on their own balcony and slipping into the bedroom. 

"I've got you next time, though!" he calls after her as she disappears into the connected bathroom. "You can't keep winning, I grew up on Ember Island. I  _ will _ beat you."

"Sure you will," Katara calls back, "just as soon as you stop cheating."

"It's not cheating," Zuko mumbles as he slides into bed, "it's just... playing creatively."

"Oh really? So the next time we play pai sho, you won't be bitter about me 'playing creatively'?" Katara taunts as she walks back in, her hair now loose and flowing down to her waist. 

Zuko watches as she turns out the lights, smiling as she folds herself to fit under his arm and immediately kicks the blankets off. "Sure. But I make no promises about what Uncle will say."

"We should visit him again," Katara says, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Visit everyone, really. The ten year anniversary of the war ending is coming up, I wonder if we could get the whole gang together again."

"We'll send out hawks in the morning, I'm sure we can set something up," he says easily. "Although I'm not even sure where to send Aang's. Republic City is growing so fast, I don't know where he lives anymore."

"We can send it to Sokka. Aang keeps dropping by the South Pole to say hi to the kids; I swear one of these days he's just going to take them with him, he loves them so much."

Zuko laughs and the motion rolls through Katara. "I don't think Sokka would be very happy about that."

"Or Suki," she replies, "I think that's why he hasn't brought it up since they vetoed the 'field trip'. He's too afraid of risking her wrath."

"Smart man," Zuko replies. "You'd have to be an idiot to risk pissing off one of you girls; you'd kick all our asses any day."

Katara smiles, feeling the contentment settle into her bones. She's come a long way since the lost, angry girl she was in the aftermath of that war. That isn't to say that she doesn't still wake up some nights gasping for breath, half-convinced she's in the middle of a battle, or that it doesn't still ache, looking at all the scars from a century of war in the world around her. But at least now, it's a good ache. A healing pain. 

She still feels that itch, to help the world, to fix the things around her--she's just doing it in a different way, now. Using pretty words and politics rather than her own calloused hands. Some days she'd much rather be helping dig a well, harvest a crop, fix a table--but the things she can do from the position of Firelady are more widespread and lasting. It's worth it, she thinks. And she'd be lying if she didn't admit that a large part of that appeal didn't come from getting to work side-by-side with the man she loves every day.

The world is still healing.  _ She  _ is still healing. But she has a place that feels like home, now; the heat that once chafed now feels  _ right  _ all the way down to her bones. She knows the Fire Nation, knows its pride and its beauty and its stubbornness. She knows its spiced meat and winding streets and colonies, just like she knows the ice and flowing nature of the Water Tribes and the steady ground of the Earth Kingdom. If Aang has his way, maybe someday she'll even get to know the Air Nomads--see their temples full of life again, see a nation instead of ruins. 

She glances at her husband and smiles. She doesn't need him, but she chose him and he chose her and they are better together, somehow. More solid in themselves, more confident knowing they always have each other's backs. Katara couldn't explain it if she tried, which she knows from experience, so it's lucky that she doesn't have to. That Zuko feels the same way. 

"I love you," she whispers, just to remind him. 

"I love you too," he says back, and she presses a light kiss to his cheek before closing her eyes and getting ready to slip into sleep. 

Healing is a long and confusing process, Katara's come to find, one that is full of hurt that takes time to dissipate. And love can be just as hard and twice as painful. But despite everything, she knows this in her bones: here, with Zuko by her side and initiatives to improve the world at her fingertips, she's home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, what cuties!
> 
> Would anyone be interested in a companion fic that follows Sokka being a frustrated pen-pal to both Katara and Zuko? It's something I've considered writing (though I probably wouldn't get to it for a while, fair warning) but I hadn't settled on it as an idea or anything yet. (If anyone else has any interest in taking a crack at that, be my guest)

**Author's Note:**

> listen i LIVE for katara and sokka being supportive of each other


End file.
